


A clear sky just wouldn't feel right

by bluebells



Series: Strangers in Gravity [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael comes home. Adam remembers to clean all evidence of the previous night's mess, with one exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A clear sky just wouldn't feel right

**Author's Note:**

> Written for synnerxx in the October 2011 round of Five Acts (power play, begging, biting).

By the time Michael comes home, Adam and Lucifer have cleaned up the shattered mess of Michael’s liquor cabinet and straightened their ruined clothes from the previous night. When Adam saw Lucifer to the door, the parting had been surprisingly comfortable: even amicable.

Adam is grateful for Lucifer. Last night was the first time they had a real conversation, and it helped to have someone who knew what it was like when the love of your life stopped seeing you when you were right in front of them.

Adam pities Lucifer for knowing this hurt so well.

Adam wonders if he should be wary of Lucifer who took him apart so easily in his hands. He isn’t.

“What is that?”

Adam looks up sharply from the bowls he’d been unstacking in the dishwasher to the kitchen counter. He glances over his shoulder and around the room, but nobody else is there, and he feels stupidly incredulous when he realises that Michael is staring at him.

“Are you talking to me?” Adam blurts because Michael hasn’t so much at looked at him except to criticise or glare in the last month.

Michael stands on the other side of the counter, just beyond arm’s reach, and he’s wearing the same suit from the night before when he stormed back to the office.

Adam wondered sometimes if Michael was moving into his workplace just to avoid the sight of him.

“What is that?” Michael’s voice is sharp, and his blue eyes narrow at something below Adam’s eyes.

And then it comes flooding back to Adam: the burn of his necktie cording tighter around his throat, around any thoughts or voice about the reality Adam was drowning in except for Lucifer’s hand over his cock and the sweet, strangled climb towards oblivion.

The skin of his neck feels raw and tender when he lifts a hand to touch experimentally. Shit, why didn’t he remember to cover this up before Michael came home?

Well, maybe because he didn’t expect to see Michael at all.

His eyes widen when Michael rounds the counter, briefcase forgotten on the dining table. His attention is fixed on the angry, red cloth burn around Adam’s neck, and Adam flinches when Michael reaches for him.

Michael stops with a look of surprise.

“Adam, what happened?” His voice has softened, he searches Adam’s face carefully, and Adam’s heart hammers painfully against his ribs.

He can’t remember the last time Michael looked at him as though he cared. That hurts.

The sting in his eyes is completely unbidden and he shakes his head when Michael steps in, hands taking his shoulders, because he doesn’t want Michael to touch him after what Adam did, after the horrible way Michael’s been treating him, but oh God, what _Adam_ did….

“Adam.” Michael sounds crestfallen and he hugs Adam to his chest, careful and tight.

Adam sobs when Michael kisses his forehead. What did Michael think he was doing? After the torture of the last few months, to pretend he cared now?

He tries to tell Michael to let go and get off because they weren’t on speaking terms – let alone touching – and Adam is so furious he’s trembling.

 _I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

“Who did this to you? What happened? Adam, who hurt you?” Michael pushes a hand through Adam’s hair, looking so concerned he’s almost moved to pain, and Adam finally understands.

Michael thinks Adam was attacked.

Adam is shaking his head before he’s thinking it through, but his tremors are so bad that his weak efforts to put distance between them are easily overpowered.

“No.” Adam shakes his head, his voice is thick and choked, cracking under the weight of uncertainty. “No, I don’t want you –“

 _I don’t want you to pity me. I don’t want you to touch me only because you think somebody else did._

Michael’s flinch of hurt stills as he studies Adam’s face. The hurt shifts and slowly melts into understanding.

Adam wonders how ugly his guilt looks.

The familiar ice has crept in behind Michael’s eyes and his fingers tighten around Adam’s shoulder.

“Who did this to you?” This time when Michael asks, his tone brims with barely restrained anger, and Adam gasps when Michael squeezes his arms. “Did you ask for it?”

“You weren’t here,” Adam murmurs, voice tight, distracted by Michael’s grip. It might leave new bruises in his skin. Michael had never held him like this before and it was confusing: part of him was scared, but the larger part of him was weak with relief that Michael was touching him at all. He hated himself for even thinking that.

“I wasn’t here? And so you let someone do this to you?” When Adam only swallows through the lump in his throat, Michael pushes him back against the counter to look at him as though searching for further faults. “Did you let them touch you?”

Hands grip his hips, palm his lower ribs through his shirt, and when Michael takes his shoulder, crushing Adam against the counter top with his tall frame, Adam’s arm swings out in shock and the porcelain bowls crash to the floor. Michael just nuzzles his ear in a rough mockery of affection, and Adam whimpers at the hand that pushes down his back.

“Did you tell them you’re mine?” Michael growls and Adam flinches when the kiss to his cheek is sharpened with teeth scraping along his jaw.

Once upon a time that might have been hot. But now he’s stranded at low tide somewhere between livid and terrified.

“Michael.” Adam trembles when Michael only winds himself tighter around him, warm and suffocating. Adam tries to reason. “You don’t want me anymore.”

Michael’s kiss is rough and bruising possession. Adam whimpers at the fingers that tug in his hair and he’s gasping when Michael finally releases his mouth, teeth tugging at his lower lip.

“Did you tell them you’re mine?” Michael demands again, and Adam looks down when he realises Michael’s hands are working Adam’s pants open.

Adam shakes his head. No, this isn’t – Michael doesn’t –

“But you don’t want me.” Adam doesn’t understand. He just wants to understand.

He doesn’t fight when Michael kisses him again, a gesture that feels like it’s designed to make him shut up. Adam opens to it, though he feels like he’s standing on quicksand and his heart hammers with the knowledge that he’s sinking, but then Michael’s hands steady him on his hips, and the kiss tilts from a violent domination into something halting and curious.

One of the drawers opens and shuts beside them and Adam holds on with arms wrapped around Michael’s neck as slicked fingers work between his thighs.

He groans when Michael breaches him and hides his face in Michael’s neck.

“You can tell me,” he pants and tries to relax, spreading his legs further when another of Michael’s fingers circles his rim, “I’ve known for a while. Just be straight with me or I can’t promise I won’t hate you.”

Michael steps back far enough to look into his face and Adam thinks he looks surprised. If his focus wasn’t clouded with sensation of the burn and sweet ache sending shivers up his spine, he might have even guessed that Michael’s expression was hurt.

“You don’t hate me, Adam.” Michael states it like it’s a fact Adam might have forgotten in his recent hell, but it hovers in doubt at the end.

“God.” Adam laughs wetly, catching on the sob that rises too fast for him to swallow. “I think I do.”

Michael’s expression twists and Adam goes weak when his fingers withdraw. Michael catches him before his knees crumble, and holds him bodily against the counter, chest-to-chest.

“No, you don’t.” There’s a strangled quality to Michael’s voice and Adam wonders if Michael is trying to convince Adam or himself. “You don’t hate me, Adam. You don’t hate me. You don’t hate me.”

Adam’s senses are overwhelmed by the lingering traces of Michael’s cologne and sweat when Michael buries his face in Adam’s neck; scents that he had almost forgotten. Adam laughs, but he still tilts his hips up when Michael’s hands slide down to massage and part his cheeks.

“I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.”

Adam cries out when Michael rocks into him, legs around Michael’s waist, and Michael’s hands hold him open until he’s in to the hilt, balls flush, and every brush of Adam’s cock against the hard planes of Michael’s stomach makes him jerk and shiver, tilting closer.

A mutual reprieve settles as they get their bearings, harsh breaths shattering the calm of the afternoon sun.

Michael kisses Adam’s face, his cheeks, and Adam realises that Michael is chasing his tears.

He’s not sure when that happened.

Adam braces himself with hands behind him on the counter top when Michael withdraws to thrust back in. Adam bears down tight, greedily soaking in the want Michael groans into his mouth. It aches once Michael finds his rhythm, the burn slowly easing from pain towards the blur of lust, striking a match that makes his heart almost skip a beat when Michael adjusts his angle. He watches Adam’s face to make sure every push leaves him wincing with the burst of heat that melts his spine into a permanent arch.

“I hate you,” Adam moans when Michael sucks hard at the raw, reddened skin around his throat.

Michael raises his head, and this time, Adam is the one who initiates the kiss before Michael can reply, but it’s forceful and angry.

“You’re mine,” Michael promises, when he pulls back, fingertips light beneath the mark of Lucifer’s chokehold, and his other hand finally wraps around Adam’s cock, “Nothing will ever change that.”

Adam is already shaking his head.

“You hate me,” he spits.

Michael shakes his head, too, and grinds his hips forward, dragging the circle of his fingers from the base of Adam’s cock to the weeping head. Adam’s eyes slide shut against his will, his head falls back and he lets Michael push and pull his body towards completion as he’s done so many times before.

“I love you,” Michael says, startling Adam back to reality.

 _No, no, don’t say that…._

Michael tells him again and again with every roll of his hips and Adam can only brace himself to take it until he’s stiffening and spilling over between them with a gasp of relief. In that blissful moment, when all noise fades to a static whine, Adam doesn’t have to hear Michael’s lie. It passes too soon.

Michael eases him to sit on the counter, hugged against his chest, and he presses his mouth to Adam’s temple.

“I love you,” Michael swears, like the oath it’s supposed to be.

 _No,_ Adam admits to himself, _I don’t think you do._


End file.
